Learning to Fall
by Catherine Benson
Summary: Post "Jump Push Fall." Jordan tries to hold herself together as her world falls apart. CHAPTER 2 UP
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Crossing Jordan or any of it's characters/situations. They are property of Tim Kring and NBC. I am merely borrowing Jordan and there rest of the gang.

She waited until the last morgue employee had left before she allowed her shoulders to sag with exhaustion. She watched the elevator doors close behind Lily and turned to walk down the empty marble hallway. Her head throbbed, a heavy, pulsating beat just behind her temples. Still, she walked.

She paused at the door to Garrett's old office. As she peered through the window, she realized that the room held no evidence that her old boss and mentor had ever been there. His old fashioned things had been removed and in their place was Slocum's new-age technological paraphernalia. His record player, his jazz recordings, the hand puppet he used to keep on his bookshelf; all were gone. If somebody unfamiliar with the morgue were to walk into that office, he would never know that Dr. Garret Macy had ever taken up residence as Chief Medical Examiner for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

She tried the door handle, hoping that if she was inside the room, she'd somehow sense him, draw from his strength. But, like so many other doors in her life, it was locked.

With a final glance, Jordan continued to walk down the hallway to her own office, where she hoped to find some sense of hope, or of clarity, or, at the very least, enough bourbon to make her sleep for a couple of days. And maybe when she woke up, it would all be over. Garrett would have his job back, Slocum would be gone, and Woody would be well enough to job with her in the morning. And he would no longer by angry with her, he'd believe that she meant what she whispered in the hospital, and he'd return her feelings.

But, as she entered her office and looked through the mini-fridge, finding it devoid of liquor, she knew that, while drinking herself into a stupor sounded tempting, it wouldn't solve anything. And things desperately need to be solved.

She sat on her small sofa, her fists resting on her knees. She ran a hand through her hair, yanking at the tangles she encountered. She had to figure out how to get Garrett back. She needed him there, if not for her own sake, for the sake of the rest of the morgue family. After he had left that afternoon, her friends and coworkers had all but fallen apart. Lily began to cry, Nigel began to curse, and Bug just stood there with a stupefied look on his face. And then Slocum had ordered them all back to work with "a little enthusiasm, please."

Garret had a hearing in front of the DA's office the following week to find out if criminal charges would be pressed. If no legal action was taken, he would then have a hearing in front of the state medical board to determine the status of his medical license. If he was, indeed, reinstated, they would begin a long fight with Slocum regarding Garrett's old job, and who had the right to it.

Jordan had called Renée Walcott that evening, after she had finished with her assigned autopsy, and had all but begged her to give him the benefit of the doubt, the benefit he had earned after working with the DA's office for twenty solid years, sending innumerable criminals to jail with his testimony. Hr plea had been heard by the older who, in a voice almost as shaky as Jordan's own, assured her that she would do everything in her power to help. It seemed the real battle would be with the medical board and later with Slocum, who would have the final say on his job status. But Jordan couldn't think about it now. Her brain felt like it would explode any minute, and the thumping in her head seemed to have grown exponentially.

Hoping to assuage the pain, and every other feeling plaguing her, she laid back into the couch, tucking her body into an almost fetal position. She couldn't deal with this now. She couldn't deal with anything now. She wondered idly what, specifically, she had done to cause the mania surrounding her. What decision she had made to cause Garrett to lose his job, or Woody to get shot. It had to be some sort of bad karma, but she couldn't quite pinpoint the moment when fate had doomed her to live without the two men who meant the most to her.

She didn't know when she fell asleep, but whatever amounts of rest she had gotten seemed minimal when the vibrating of her cell phone woke her up hours later. She groaned, but it insisted on quivering in her pocket, so Jordan, after several rings, flipped up the top and pushed "answer."

"Cavanaugh."

"Jordan Cavanaugh? This is Dr. Waters at Boston General. We have you listed as the next of kin for a Detective Wood-"

"Woody!" She bolted upright, not allowing the woman to finish her sentence. "What happened? Is he alright? He's not dead is he? He can't be dead." She slipped on her shoes and grabbed her car keys from her desk.

"No, he's not dead. He went into surgery early this morning," Jordan glanced at the clock. It was almost ten, "and there were some complications. He's in critical condition. You might want to-"

"I'm on my way."

She didn't bother to shut her office door on the way out.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Crossing Jordan or it's characters.

Her heart thundered as she walked briskly toward the Intensive Care Unit, Lily struggling to keep up behind her. She had quite literally run into the grief counselor on her way out of the morgue, nearly knocking her over. Lily had taken one look at her friend's pale, sunken face, and had followed in tow. Jordan hadn't had the strength to argue.

Jordan flew to the front desk. "I was called about Detective Woody Hoyt. Where is he?"

The receptionist, a black woman of around 50, peered over the desk and gave her the once-over. "Who are you?"

"Jordan Cavanaugh. Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh, his next of kin. Where is he?" When the woman didn't respond, taking a moment to glance down at the papers in front of her, Jordan lost it, "Where the hell is he?" she yelled.

Lily laid a hand on her upper arm and began to rub, trying to soothe her.

"Room 116."

She took off down the hall and Lily followed.

"Wait!" Lily stopped in her tracks when the nurse hollered. "Where do you think you're going, missy?"

"Room 116?" The nurse shook her head. "The waiting room?" She nodded. Lily turned around and headed towards the waiting room.

Jordan raced down the hallway. She had to see him. He had to be alive, had to be okay. She didn't know what she'd do if he wasn't. She stopped when she reached his room, nearly passing it in her haste. What she saw when she looked through the window knocked the breath out of her, like she had been punched in the stomach with no warning. He was hooked up to more machines than she could count and though she could identify the majority of them, her brain couldn't get past the image before her. What had happened during that surgery to create this mess?

"Miss Cavanaugh?" Jordan jumped at the voice behind her and turned to face the man who had spoken. He was tall, probably hovering around six feet, his hair was graying at the temples, and his eyes were dull with fatigue.

"Dr. Cavanaugh. What can you tell me?"

He laid a hand on her shoulder and turned her to walk with him down the hall. "Dr. Cavanaugh, my apologies. I'm Dr. Benson, Detective Hoyt's surgeon. Why don't you come with me to the conference room and I'll explain the whole thing."

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She had seen Woody. He was alive. That much she could be thankful for. She had been so afraid that he would die while she was on her way there, that he would leave her for good. She had wracked her brain for an explanation. The surgery he had been scheduled for was not a very complicated one, nor was it especially risky. They would open him up and the specialist from New York, who she now assumed to be Dr. Benson, would look at his nerves, assess the damage, and formulate a plan as to how to best help Woody.

The only thing she had been able to come up with was that they had nicked the spine. The doctor's expert, skilled hand had slipped, rendering Woody paralyzed for the rest of his life.

God, he'd hate that. He wouldn't be able to do much more than desk work at the precinct. No more catching the bad guys, finding justice. No more running with her the mornings, no more dancing with her at night. Everything he'd loved to do would be taken away.

Jordan only prayed she was wrong about her assessment, her predictions. Maybe it was something more minor, something that wouldn't have permanent effect. Maybe he wasn't critical after all. Maybe the doctors were just being careful.

Dr. Benson opened the door to the small, dimly lit room, and ushered Jordan inside. She picked a seat and tapped her foot, anxiously awaiting an explanation.

"Dr. Cavanaugh," he began, his voice gentle and soft, "you know, as a doctor, that there are many risks involved with even the most minor of operations." He paused, waiting for her response.

"Yes, I know. Get to the point. What's wrong with him?" she snapped.

"Anesthetic overdose," her replied, dropping the sugar-coating from his voice. "One of our new CRNA's messed up. She's just out of school. She-"

Before Dr. Benson could continue, a young blonde woman burst into the room, obviously in hysterics. Her face was red, her eyes puffy from crying. She immediately rushed towards Jordan, who had turned her chair sideways at her entrance, kneeling on the floor in front of her.

"Mrs. Hoyt, I am so sorry. This is all my fault, it's my fault he's," She breathed quickly, her intake of air punctuated with a tearful whimper, "he's… he's… the way he is. It's my fault he almost died," she wailed. "I am so, so sorry."

Jordan looked down with wide eyes at the woman. Her head hung low, her body shaking with sobs. Jordan didn't know what to say.

"I was… I was talking to Virginia, one of the other nurses, about the season finale of CSI tonight- we both love CSI, watch it religiously, and I guess I got distracted and I… I…" The girl broke down in tears, clutching the end of the conference table and sinking from her knees to the floor.

Dr. Benson stood from his seat and sat next to the girl on the ground. He placed an arm around her shoulder.

"Shh, Stacey," he whispered, "everybody makes mistakes. Why don't you go wait in my office, hmm?"

"But I… but I want to tell Mrs. Hoyt what… what…"

"You can tell her what happened later, when you've calmed down." He eased her to her feet and escorted her out of the room.

Jordan sat back in her chair, stunned. Woody had almost died. Woody had almost died because of some amateur mistake. Why did they have someone so inexperienced administering his anesthesia in the first place? He had almost died…

Dr. Benson reentered the room. "I'm sorry about her, she's a little overwrought, as you can see, and-"

She interrupted him. "Everybody makes mistakes? Everybody makes mistakes, Doctor? Her 'mistake' almost cost Woody his life! How can you tell her that everybody makes mistakes?" she cried, banging the table with her first for emphasis. She stood and walked towards the wall nearest the door, putting a hand over her mouth to battle the oncoming tears. For what may have been the first time, it hit her- really hit her.

She could see it in the back of her mind: his body lying on a slab in her morgue, ready to be sliced and diced like so much dead meat. His eyelids were closed, and beneath them, his eyes were cold and dead. Without the sparkle they got when he teased her, or the tenderness they showed when he held her. He would never laugh again, never cry again, never smile again, never feel again.

She would make the initial Y-incision with the utmost care- the same care with which she'd handle his internal organs, removing them and weighing them in a hunt for abnormalities. She'd remove his heart last, knowing that, at one point, that heart had loved her fiercely. Then, after completing her autopsy, she'd suture him up and put him in a drawer where he would rest until she could make funeral arrangements.

She released a shaky breath, and wiped away the single fallen tear.

"He's not dead yet, Dr. Cavanaugh," Dr. Benson said quietly across the room. "Would you like to hear what happened?"

Jordan just nodded and sat down.


End file.
